Twitterpated
by LostinOblivion
Summary: Emily suffers a string of back luck on a case, and Morgan finds himself rather distracted by his partner. Morgan/Prentiss. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

_"Nearly everybody gets twitterpated in the springtime. For example: You're walking along, minding your own business. You're looking neither to the left, nor to the right, when all of a sudden you run smack into a pretty face. Woo-woo! You begin to get weak in the knees. Your head's in a whirl. And then you feel light as a feather, and before you know it, you're walking on air. And then you know what? You're knocked for a loop, and you completely lose your head!" _

_- Friend Owl, Bambi_

She came sputtering out of the filthy lake, gagging the greenish water back into the brackish pool, and cursing so colorfully in her head she was glad it wasn't actually coming out of her mouth.

Prentiss had decided on their first day there, that she didn't like Wyoming. By the end of their third day, she was wishing a plague of locusts on the state. Really, it wasn't the state's fault her luck had been so rotten there, but she needed to blame someone or something.

This was their fourth day.

Emily swam toward shore, still half-gasping for air, and was happy to have Morgan offer a hand to help pull her out. JJ and Hotch had the suspect on nearby path, JJ's knee pressed into his upper back. Rossi and Reid were still heading down from the little footbridge she'd been pushed off.

She kind of hoped JJ caused him a little spinal damage.

"You alright, Prentiss?" Morgan had a hand on her back, gently tapping as she finished expelling the lake water from her lungs.

"All I can taste is dead fish."

He cringed. "Don't go kissing anyone with that in your mouth."

She gave him a look. "And, just who would I be kissing?"

"I don't know, that deputy that can't stop looking at your chest?" He grinned at her, helping her onto the path where the rest of the team was gathered.

"Not likely." He'd also accidentally spilled coffee all over her chest. Twice.

Morgan chuckled. "What stuttering and jittery nerves don't turn you on?"

"No."

"Take her to a hospital, Morgan. She's going to need antibiotics," Hotch directed, yanking their unsub off the ground.

Rossi surveyed the lake with a wrinkled nose. "Better ask them for the strongest pills they've got."

"Yeah, yeah," Prentiss mumbled, already heading back towards the cars, still coughing occasionally. Eyebrows raised, and still looking amused, Morgan hurried after her rather pathetic form.

Soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her skull, white blouse turned brownish green, and stuck to her skin in a way that would win her a wet t-shirt contest, and form slightly hunched, she knew she looked utterly miserable. When they got to the SUV, Morgan cranked the heat on, and handed her, her jacket. It wasn't too cold yet, but chilly enough that she'd get sick in wet clothes.

* * *

This was not happening.

Normally, their rule of thumb was to pack for two weeks and a day. They rarely stayed longer than two weeks; by that point if they weren't able to close the case, they left the locals with a profile and went home. Usually the extra clothes served as unnecessary back-up, and if they did happen to stay a little longer, their clothes weren't so messy they couldn't rewear them. Something they usually did anyway.

Usually.

Except Wyoming apparently didn't want her dressed. She had no clean tops. Not one single clean piece of clothing.

She had no hope in hell of salvaging several pieces including: one sweater covered in fruit punch, courtesy of the excited toddler of a witness she and Rossi had questioned. Why hadn't anyone given that kid a sippy cup? One sweater with a giant rip in a sleeve, from their first chase with a suspect. Two shirts stained with coffee from the over-excited deputy, who had to be about twenty years younger than her. That kid should have had a sippy cup too. One white blouse soaked in disgusting lake water.

She also had two other blouses that wreaked of sweat, and sported some unattractive yellow stains at the armpits and collar. The station house heater had been broken for two days, causing the place to feel like an oven. And, appearance conscious agents they were, after they'd all sweat through their shirts, their blazers went back on, and made them all the more miserable. But, those she could hand wash tonight, she just needed some detergent and baking soda. She could also wash the red top that wreaked of smoke from a witness she and Reid had questioned earlier in the week that insisted on chain-smoking cheap cigars in his already nasty-smelling house. But, that was it for her tops, she'd planned on re-wearing her blouses if she went through all her tops.

She should not have gone through eight tops in four days.

Emily sighed in frustration, and picked up her phone, falling onto the bed, one hand gripping the towel that was the only thing covering her.

"Feel better?" Morgan greeted.

"I brushed my teeth twice already. I still taste fish." Just thinking it made the taste all the more vivid.

He chuckled. "How about once we finish this tonight, I buy you a drink strong enough to wash the fish taste out?"

"Sold."

"Are you ready to head out then?"

She hesitated. "Not exactly...uh, can I borrow a shirt?"

"What?" He blurted, surprised.

"A shirt. I'm out of tops."

"Seriously?"

"No, I just want to embarrass myself," she said. "Yes, Morgan, more than half of what I brought has been destroyed, the rest of it smells. I'll wash some tonight, but I need something for now. If I walk into the station topless, besides Hotch sending me for counseling, I'm afraid I'd give Deputy Drool an aneurysm." Garcia had bestowed that nickname on him.

She could hear the smile in his voice. "Oh, but what a thing to watch."

"Funny...so, shirt?"

"Sure, I think I've got a clean sweater. It'll be a little big on you..."

"Whatever, it'll work...and, thank you." Even she could hear the relief in her own voice.

"No problem. You need me to bring it over?"

"Yeah, all I'm wearing is a towel."

His vocal cords seemed to be suddenly paralyzed, until he said, "Now, that's just way too easy to touch."

He hung up before she could respond. Could this case get anymore humiliating?

She needed a bra. Shit. She could not go without, beyond being uncomfortable, that would just cause more issues with the young, amorous deputy.

* * *

Morgan had never had a woman ask to borrow his clothes before-friend, colleague, or...well, girlfriends usually just took, they didn't ask. And, it wasn't like he seriously dated many women. This was definitely a surprise, and an amusing one at that. Not that he'd missed how many times she'd driven back to the hotel to change the last four days, or the increasingly aggravated expression on her face. Prentiss seemed to get all the bad luck on this case.

Shaking his head, Morgan dug through his bag until he found a sweater, and went down the hall to Emily's door. He knocked, and when she opened the door, stuck the hand with the sweater in. He'd be a good guy, and not ogle her while she's in a towel. Besides, she was getting enough unwanted ogling from Deputy Drool. Part of him wanted to take the kid aside and tell him he was making an ass of himself, school him on the ladies a bit. The other part just wanted to smack the kid into next week, and tell him that staring rapturously at colleagues was disrespectful.

Not that he hadn't admired the view once or twice, but never so obviously and never enough to make her uncomfortable. Of course, he'd been admiring that particular view more often lately, and keeping his thoughts platonic had been a chore. He honestly didn't know what was going on in his head; he'd always been attracted to her, but he figured after four years she'd be firmly in the friend box. She was not. Well, she was a friend, but line between that box and the 'I want to have my wicked way with you' box were blurring.

Shaking those dangerous thoughts from his head, Morgan walked back to his room, and only waited a few minutes before she knocked on his door. He grabbed the car keys, and opened the door, head in the appropriate mindset and fully ready to meet-up with the rest of the team. Then his mental coaching all went to hell.

She'd cuffed the sleeves, the hem fell a couple inches past her waist, and the v-neck dipped low on her, but not inappropriately. And, he'd never seen that sweater look better. It was fitted on him, but her curves were mostly hidden, though it couldn't hide the curve of her breasts. The fabric of the shirt wasn't used to conforming that way, and showed the slightest bit of stretch. It looked like she'd only combed and towel dried her hair, giving it an almost wild look. It was decidedly hot, and Morgan...

And, Morgan suddenly felt like the biggest hypocrite in the world. He was ogling her something fierce, though fortunately Prentiss didn't notice because she was busy searching for something in her pockets.

He had forgotten how intimate it felt to see a woman in his clothes, like he was almost claiming her as his...and wouldn't she just kill him if she could read _that_ thought? But that's what it was, why teenage girls wear their boyfriend's starter jackets, and men so readily lend their girlfriends t-shirts to sleep in or sweatshirts when it's cold. You're wearing my clothes, that makes you _mine_.

Except that, that wasn't true now. Regardless, of the almost primal urges surging through him at the moment. He did not expect to feel so...turned on by it. She's a buddy, just a buddy, he silently scolded himself. Of course, he didn't typically start picturing his 'buddies' in his t-shirts or uh, nothing at all. Morgan mentally smacked himself. Get a grip, and put your eyes back in your head before you run into the team, he told himself.

They would most definitely notice if he was ogling Prentiss, and then Hotch would pull him aside for a conversation. That would be incredibly awkward as well as embarrassing. He suddenly had a mental image of trying to explain to Hotch why he his attention was glued to her, and he realized, he had an even bigger problem.

He really _liked_ seeing her in his clothes. He liked seeing her in his sweater a lot. He wanted to see her in more of his clothes. He wanted to watch her bare breasts rub against his Chicago Bulls jersey. He wanted to see her walk around in nothing but one of his button downs. He was even, you might say, _excited_ at the thought. Shit.

That was the problem. That was a really big fucking problem.

"Morgan? Are you okay?" She was frowning and studying him.

Shit.

* * *

She'd decided on the bra that had gotten soaked in coffee and sweat. The coffee covered most of the sweat stench, and she could handle smelling like coffee. At least it wasn't an unpleasant scent-like juice (which also made the fabric sticky), lake water, or cigarette smoke.

And, with Morgan's rather cozy maroon sweater, she was feeling much better when they walked into the sheriff's station. At least, until they saw the team. It took seconds for the five of them to glance and realize that she was wearing Morgan's sweater. Really, would anyone besides profilers or Garcia even notice that?

"If I didn't know you guys wouldn't be so stupidly obvious, I'd say someone had a quickie." Garcia was all amused grinning.

"Get your head outta the gutter, babygirl," Morgan warned her. He'd seemed strange since she met him at his room earlier, and she was a little concerned.

"Mmmm, but the gutter is my home," she purred at him.

JJ and Rossi looked seconds away from bursting out laughing, Hotch was struggling not to smile, and Reid look slightly uncomfortable. Morgan chuckled.

"Seriously Em, cute as you look in Derek's sweater...what's the occasion?" Garcia pressed.

"I uh, ran out of clean shirts."

"Already?" JJ asked.

"Yeah, did you miss how many times I had to change in the last four days?"

Garcia chuckled. "We better keep Deputy Drool away from you then."

"Please," she begged, a little too sincerely.

So Garcia was given the job of keeping the deputy away from her, which she did by sweeping in every time the young man headed toward Emily. The tech would sweep in all smiles, and flirt and gush over him, just before she sent him on an errand. It worked well enough to give Emily a chance to get through her paperwork.

Rossi and Hotch had already handled the interrogation of the suspect, and gotten all that they would. All they had to do was the paperwork to hand him over to the locals, and their prosecutors would take care of the rest. Since it was late, they'd spend the night, and leave early in the morning.

"Uh, A-Agent Prentiss?" She was just coming out of the bathroom when the voice stopped her, the young blue-eyed deputy was approaching her, mug of something in his hands.

She quickly held up a hand. "Stop."

He froze startled.

"Put that cup down." He did, looking confused and maybe a little frightened. "Okay, now you can talk to me. Do you need something, Deputy Hawthorne?"

"I was-was jus-just wondering if I c-could take you t-to dinner, tonight being your l-last in town." He looked up at her, seeming so young and shy it almost hurt to turn him down.

"I'm sorry, but we're leaving this afternoon."

His face fell, and he looked at the ground. "Oh, right, s-sure."

Emily closed her eyes and sighed. "Deputy, how old are you?"

He looked up, puffing his chest proudly. "Turned twenty last month, ma'am."

God, even younger than she thought. "And, how old do you think I am?"

"Uh, I was taught it wasn't polite to discuss a lady's age."

Well, at least the stuttering seemed to have left. "Well then, I'll tell you that I'm about twice your age, Deputy. Doesn't that bother you?"

He smiled. "No ma'am. You're one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen."

"That's...flattering, really, but...have you ever had a girlfriend?"

"Sure, I've gone out with a few girls, nothing stuck though."

Emily nodded, but froze, a disturbing realization coming to mind. "Have you...have you ever had sex?"

He blushed. "No ma'am, haven't found the right girl yet."

She stood there open-mouthed for a long moment, before simply turning and walking slowly back to the team. JJ and Garcia were chattering, and both noticed the shock on her face at the same time.

"Em? What's wrong?" Garcia asked.

She turned to them. "He's 20 and a virgin, and I wasn't as innocent as he is when I was fourteen."

"The Deputy?" JJ asked. Emily nodded, too stunned to elaborate. She hadn't even touched him and she felt like a cradle-robber. It shouldn't have surprised her, considering how awkward he seemed to be with women, and yet it did.

"Aww, and he wants you to be his first?" Garcia gushed. "That's sweet. Our Emily deflowering sweet little virgins."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." They all whipped around to see an uncomfortable Hotch.

"Oh god, that didn't sound like what you're thinking, Hotch," Emily insisted.

He held up his hands. "I didn't hear anything...are you three done with your reports?"

JJ and Garcia handed over theirs, while Emily tried desperately to convince him she wasn't a sexual predator. "Seriously Hotch, that wasn't what it sounded like, I didn't and I'm not, he's way too young for me."

Hotch looked at Emily pointedly. "I didn't imagine you had or would, as I said, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear it." He took her report and headed off.

She turned to Garcia. "Thanks."

"Oh, relax, he's knows I was just kidding."

Emily groaned loudly. "I hate Wyoming."

* * *

They were back at the hotel, Morgan pacing back and forth in his room. They were all supposed to be packing and decompressing a bit before heading out to the airport, but he couldn't be relaxed, not for anything. He did not like the young deputy chatting her up, not that he considered the kid much in the way of competition...Did he really just think that? Oh god, what the hell was going on in his brain? He needed to talk to someone, he needed to sort this out, he needed...he needed... Hell, he needed Garcia.

He stormed from his room, to the room next to his, and knocked gently on the door. He heard movement almost immediately, and she opened the door with a bright, bubbly smile.

"Hey hotstuff, are we leaving already?"

"No, not yet. Uh, do you have a second to talk?"

She seemed to notice his demeanor then, and offered a soft smile. "For you, always."

He followed her inside, and she sat on the bed, while he hunched over in a chair. "I think I've got a problem, babygirl."

"What kind of problem?"

He sighed miserably into his hands. "The sweater thing with Prentiss."

Garcia gasped. "Oh my god, you guys _were_ doing the naughty!"

"No, we were _not_ doing the naughty," he corrected impatiently.

The tech was silent for several seconds, and when she did finally speak, her voice was soft. "But...you want to do the naughty with her. Am I right?"

Morgan just glowered. He did not like being unsure or being confused, especially where women were concerned. There was many reasons he steered away from relationships, feelings like this was one of them. Do not fall in love, do not get hung up on a girl, and there won't be problems. Not that he was in love with Prentiss, but he was pretty sure this qualified as being hung up.

"I saw her in my sweater, babygirl, and now all I can think about is how much I want to get it off her, and how much I want to see her in more of my clothes."

Her eyebrows went up, and it was obvious she was trying not to giggle. "Oh honey, that sounds like you want to play dress up with her."

Morgan scowled. "You know exactly what I mean."

"Oh, you bet I do...have I ever told you how cute you are when you're confused?"

"Babygirl," he warned her.

"Oh relax," she admonished. "First thing, did these feelings start with the sweater thing today? Because if they did, all you're going to do is march back into your room and take an ice-cold shower."

"No, I guess I've been feeling this way a while. It's just very strong now." He stared at the floor, god this was so embarrassing.

"Okay, and when these feelings pop up, is this just a sex thing, or is there more to it?" Her voice was gentle, seeming to realize how hard this was for him.

"No, it's not just about sex."

Garcia nodded slowly. "So, you're telling me your feelings for our Emily are no longer platonic?"

He shifted uncomfortably and just stared her, giving her an answer with his silence.

"Alright then, I think you need to talk to her."

"What? I can't do that, I need it to go away!" he said.

"It doesn't work that way, Derek. There's no pill out there to make you untwitterpated."

"Un-what now?"

"Twitterpated, honey. Watch Bambi sometime." She smiled gently at him and squeezed his bicep. "Go talk to her, Derek."

Easier said than done, he thought. This was an impossible situation, he didn't want to talk about it, he wanted it to just go away. He rested his head in his hands and groaned.

"She's not a praying mantis, she won't chomp on your head, just go talk to her. Now." Garcia then literally began to shove him out the door.

* * *

_So, I actually forgot about this story for...well, a while. I started it the summer after the fifth season, and got stuck, repeatedly. Then I got myself unstuck and forgot due to the crap happening the last few months. So, I will post the second (and last) part I think next week. Hope you enjoy, reviews always welcome. _

_Oh, and congrats to the Profiler's Choice winners!_


	2. Chapter 2

_I decided to post this today instead of later this week, because I actually had time, and you were all so wonderful with reviews, I wanted to be wonderful back and get this posted early. :) Thank you all so much for the comments, it really made my day. Less humor in this part though, it had to be a tad bit serious. _

_Oh, and I forgot to mention that this is set when I started writing it, so between the fifth and sixth seasons.  
_

_To the Guest reviewer: I actually hadn't seen Paget's twitter in a while, so I had no idea that she has a praying mantis buddy. :)_

* * *

Emily trudged over to the door, reluctant to open it and welcome fate, preferring instead to hibernate until they were safetly out of Wyoming. She was still wearing Morgan's sweater, but managed to locate some detergent and baking soda and hand wash some of her less destroyed clothing, which was now hanging up in the bathroom.

She peeped through the hole, and pulled the door open with a smile. "Hey."

Morgan opened his mouth, but then seemed to lose whatever it was he was going to say. Emily had all of ten seconds to be concerned before she was suddenly pressed up against the wall in her room, Morgan's lips pressed firmly into hers. One arm around her waist, the other in her hair, and his tongue running over her lip, Emily allowed him entrance without even thinking. She was kissing him back, enjoying every tongue flick, but it lasted only seconds before reality hit her.

She pushed him back, almost a little too hard, swallowing to get her breath back. "What the hell was that?"

Morgan actually looked as surprised as she felt. How the hell did a lifetime player pull off that look of stunned innocence? "I, I uh, I didn't..."

Emily was at a bit of a loss. She wanted to be pissed. No, she was pissed, but she was also suddenly concerned. "Morgan...are you sick?"

Anyone except the four guys on the team tried that one her, and she'd be filling out the sexual harassment paperwork. None of the guys though made a habit of coming into her room and trying to kiss her senseless, and she trusted them not to try that with her. Except Morgan had just done that, and well, she was wondering if he'd suffered a stroke or something.

He finally shook his head and closed his mouth. "Can I talk to you a minute?"

She didn't know what to think. "Please do."

He closed the door, and followed her as she walked and sat down on the bed, but kept a few feet of distance between them, like he was scared to get too close to her. He remained standing, and he looked nervous. At least, she was pretty sure that was nervous, she'd never actually seen him nervous. This was weird.

"I'm sorry about that," he waved toward the door. "That wasn't what I planned on doing when I knocked on your door."

She nodded. "What did you plan on doing?"

"Talking."

"Something on your mind?" She wished to god whatever it was, he'd just spit it out. She was starting to get really worried.

"Yeah actually...you."

He had this look on his face, like he desperately wanted her to fill in the blanks, but she was so lost, she hadn't a clue. "I'm sorry, I'm not following."

He sighed loudly and hung his head. After a minute he looked up, and ran his hands over his bald head. "Okay, I need you to know that I've been having some...non-platonic thoughts about you recently."

He what? Her mouth actually fell open, but only for a few seconds. She ran her tongue over her lips nervously, and tried to think of something to say. "Recently, as in today, the last hour, the last week...?"

"The last few months."

Her eyebrows rose. "Anything in particular bring this on?"

"Today or months ago?"

"Either, both."

"Uh, when I first realized, I guess I don't really know...I mean, I've always been attracted to you." He smiled, charm oozing out. But you're a colleague, and more importantly, you are my friend. I guess pushed away to the back of my mind. And, I guess I can't just push it away anymore." He shrugged.

"And, today?" She wasn't really letting most of it sink in, it was just too much to absorb all at once.

Morgan smiled then. "I like the way you look in my clothes."

And, then heat was suddenly rushing into her cheeks. She was blushing. Derek Morgan had just told her that she turned him on, and she was blushing like a damn school girl. Nerd much?

"Did I make you suddenly bashful, Princess?" His cocky confidence was back, and while it might be annoying at that moment, it was also a relief.

"Don't be so proud of yourself," she chided. Then she sighed, "I-"

A knock interrupted them. "Em, you ready to go?" JJ called to her through the door.

"Yeah, just give me five minutes," she called back.

"Sure...hey, have you seen Morgan?"

"I'm ready, JJ," he called to her.

"Oh, hey, I'll meet you guys in the lobby." Then she disappeared.

"So..." Emily began. "To be continued?"

He smiled. "Definitely."

Morgan seemed like he might want to kiss her again, but instead he gave her hand a soft little squeeze. That simple gesture left butterflies in her stomach, and a confusing mess in her brain.

* * *

Emily spent the first part of the flight puzzling over the situation with Morgan. She didn't know what to do, though she was fairly certain she knew what she _wanted_ to do. When she'd joined the BAU, when she shook Morgan's hand for the first time, she'd felt something she hadn't felt in ages. That spark. An instant attraction. She was sure he'd felt it too, but neither of them had acted on it. In fact, they both pretended nothing happened, and had a healthy partnership for almost four years.

There were moments where the attraction grew, but she had still ignored it and continued on as if nothing was different. It really hadn't been that hard. He was off-limits, that's all there was to it.

Now, he sprung this on her, and Emily was at a loss.

Giving in would be breaking FBI fraternization rules. Giving in would also be risking one of the most important relationships in her life. She hadn't been as close to anyone as she was to Morgan since…she didn't know how long. She trusted him, _genuinely_ trusted him. She wasn't sure how many other people she could say that about.

"Hey kitten, what put that faraway look in your eyes?" Garcia sat down across from her, JJ beside her, both eyeing her expectantly.

Emily sighed. "Nothing important."

Garcia smiled. "No, nothing you want to share."

She offered a self-deprecating smile. "Not just yet."

"Are you okay?" JJ asked, blue eyes searching Emily's brown ones.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just distracted."

"Are you familiar with the term Twitterpated?" Garcia asked, leaning back in her seat.

Emily frowned and shook her head. "It sounds made up."

"Seriously?" JJ said. "You've never seen Bambi?"

"If you're talking about the Disney movie with the baby deer, then no, I haven't seen it." Her friends shook their head in disapproval, and Emily sighed in frustration. "Are you going to tell me what twitterpated is or did you visit just to quiz me on what Disney flicks I've seen?"

"Well," Garcia began, "Friend Owl, he told Bambi and Thumper about being twitterpated. It's basically falling in love without intending to or realizing it's happening. One minute your minding your own business, and the next you can't get someone's face or voice out of your head."

Emily blinked and stared at Garcia blankly. "Are you suggesting that _I'm_ twitterpated?"

JJ was turned to Garcia as well, looking at the Tech with surprise. "About who?" she asked.

"That, Jayje, is not our business. And yes, Em, I do believe that you're twitterpated." Garcia pushed her glasses back up on her nose. Her words to JJ were enough to tell Emily that Garcia knew exactly who was on her mind. Otherwise the tech would be pestering her for a name.

"And you get that from…where exactly?"

"The faraway look in your eyes. You're thinking about someone, I can tell."

Emily settled back in her seat. "Well, since you know so much, what do you suggest I do about it?"

Garcia grinned. "Oh Honey, I say go for it. It doesn't happen very often that someone gets your all twitterpated."

JJ was looking back and forth between them. "Wait, who's got you – " She stopped and shook her head. "Who are we talking about? Who are you thinking about, Emily?"

She flicked her tongue over her top lip. "No one."

The media liaison eyed her. "Oh, that's a lie."

"Ask me in a few days, I'm just not ready to get into it now."

"Alright, why don't we let you go back to mulling over your man friend?" Garcia said. "Jayje." Garcia nodded her move first.

The two women disappeared back to the front end of the jet, leaving Emily once again alone to ponder thoughts of Derek Morgan.

A short time later, they climbed off the jet, and Morgan met her by her car. "So do you want to finish our conversation?"

Emily shook her head. "Not right now. I'm tired and I think you…I think you need to think this through. Go to a club, dance with some pretty young thing, get a goodnight's sleep, and call me if you're still having non-platonic feelings."

Morgan eyed her, his expression neutral. "Some sleep and some woman pressed up against me in a club isn't going to change what I'm feeling, Princess."

"Maybe not, but we need distance. We've been attached at the hip for days."

He nodded. "Alright, but I'm going to call you tomorrow."

She smiled. "I'll expect it."

* * *

Morgan did not go to a club that night, nor did he sleep much. He was consumed with thoughts of his partner. He was nervous as hell, which wasn't typical for him. But Emily was…Emily. Over the last few months _not_ noticing little things about her had become progressively more difficult for him. Today everything he'd been feeling and ignoring had roared up and smacked him in the face.

He tossed and turned thinking about her all night, and when morning came, he finally surrendered. Morgan pulled himself out of bed, threw on jogging clothes, leashed Clooney, and took off around the block. After almost an hour, he ended up back home and in the shower. He cleaned himself up, shaved, dressed casually, and fed Clooney before taking off again.

This time he got in his car, and headed to a little breakfast place that was near one of his properties. Emily had come with him one morning to work on the house with him, and they'd stopped for coffee and breakfast. It was a hole in the wall, but had some of the best coffee either of them had ever tasted (or at least best on this side of the Atlantic for Emily), and some damn good crepes as well.

Morgan ordered two large coffees and two savory crepes, stowed them carefully in his car, and headed over to Emily's apartment. Carefully balancing the coffee on top of the styrofoam boxes with the crepes, he gently knocked on the door. At first, he heard no noise, and had to double check his watch to make sure he wasn't obscenely early. Emily was a later riser than him, but not by much. Though if she was woken prematurely, she was very grouchy, amusingly so. He knocked again.

This time he did hear noise, a slow, irritated trudge. Then he heard beeping as she disarmed the alarm, and clicking as she opened her locks. When the door opened, it became very clear that he'd woken her. Morgan cringed.

"Morgan?"

"Good Morning, I brought breakfast."

Without a word, Emily grabbed a coffee and opened the door, letting him in. She was in thin, cotton pajama pants and a strappy tank top.

"Were you out partying last night or something?" He asked.

"No."

Morgan watched her go to the cabinet and pull out the sweetner, dumping a teaspoonful into her coffee. She turned then, and offered him some. Morgan shook his head. "Are you okay?" He asked.

"My upstairs neighbors couldn't pay their rent, so they moved out last night, in the middle of the night." She sipped the coffee, and her sourpuss instantly softened into an expression that was almost peaceful. Her eyes slipped shut.

"That sucks."

With her eyes still closed, she commented. "This is really good coffee, it's from that place, isn't it?"

"Yeah it is," he said, smirking at her vague description. Then he cleared his throat. "Do you want me to let you nap and come back later?"

She shook her head. "I'll just crash tonight. Just don't ask me anything heavy until I'm finished with this cup."

Morgan nodded, and let her sit and sip while he puttered around her kitchen grabbing napkins and forks. He passed her a crepe, leaving the box open, so the smell would cue her appetite. Unless they'd been up working all night, her appetite always took a minute to jumpstart. Reid was the same way, so the two of them usually started breakfast before the rest of the team, both of them on their second coffees before the rest of them showed up.

It took her another few minutes, but she eventually dug into the crepe and savored that as much as the coffee. They ate in companionable silence with Sergio sitting patiently on the floor in between them, ready to pounce on any leftover food. Morgan saw Emily set aside a small piece of her crepe, and seemingly ignore it. When they were both finished, she got up and dropped it in Sergio's food dish.

"Do you always share food with him?"

"As long as he isn't rude. If he sits nicely and lets me eat, he gets a bit when I'm done. If he jumps on the table, meows insistently or gets in my face, then he does not."

"And that works for you?"

"Seems to, he behaved himself this morning." She shrugged, and motioned him over to the sofa. When they were sitting, she gave his hand a squeeze. "Thank you for breakfast, that was really nice."

"You're welcome, and sorry for waking you." Sergio jumped up onto Emily's lap then, purring loudly, and making himself comfortable. Emily absently stroked his dark fur. When the cat finally settled, he was facing Morgan, and staring at him.

It was not a happy look. It was a look that said he wasn't impressed with Morgan or his breakfast gesture. It was a territorial glare, warning Morgan that Sergio had dibs on Emily. As ridiculous as it was, Morgan felt a little uncomfortable, and tried to ignore the cat.

"So, I guess you're here to finish our talk," Emily said.

"Yeah. I know you said to call, but I really wanted to see you." He paused. "I haven't changed my mind. I can't get you out of my head, Emily. We aren't in Wyoming anymore, you are in your own clothing, and I still want to be with you."

Emily ran her tongue over her top lip, and inhaled. "It wasn't just my neighbors that kept me up yesterday. Morgan…years ago I was thinking the same as you are now. You were the first guy in a long time that I felt, that I felt like I could be myself with."

"I'm hearing a lot of past tense in there."

"Yeah, because now we're partners and friends, and this is one of the strongest, most important relationships in my life. I don't know if I can risk that for a chance that we won't completely fuck this up."

"Wow, you've got some faith in us."

Emily offered a one-shouldered shrug. "We don't have the best track records for this sort of thing."

"Did you ever think that was maybe because we weren't with the right people?" He asked.

"And you think, what? That we're the right people for each other, and therefore it will work between us?" She scrunched her nose up. "Doesn't that sound a little fairytale-ish?"

"I think that we've built of a hell of a foundation together, and that that alone works in our favor. I think that when someone cares about someone else as much as I do about you, then that's reason alone to give it a shot. I think if you don't feel the same, then you need to tell me now."

Emily reached a hand up, and stroked his cheek with just her fingertips. "I do care about you, so much."

That's all he needed to hear. Morgan quickly leaned close and pressed his mouth against hers. It was forceful, but patient. His lips moved slowly over hers until Emily got her bearings, and shimmied closer to him. He didn't even use tongue, just languidly moved his mouth over hers long enough to deprived them both of oxygen.

When they broke apart, Morgan looked straight at her. "Now you try and tell me that it's not worth the risk."

Emily exhaled, a grin tugging at her lips. "That's not fair. You can't kiss me like that, and then ask me to make a big, life-altering decision."

Morgan grinned. "Ooh, did I fluster you, Princess?"

She scoffed. "Hardly, the great "God of sculpted chocolate" doesn't fluster every girl he meets."

"There's only one girl that I want to fluster." He winked.

"You are a hound, Derek Morgan." She ran a hand down his chest. "But, it looks like you're my hound now."

He felt his whole face breakout in a grin. "Damn straight."

Emily felt enormous relief that their conversation had come to an end, even as butterflies settled into her stomach at their new status. It was not something she'd foreseen when they'd begun the case in Wyoming, but it was exciting.

Even so, after a short make-out session that drove an irritated Sergio from her lap, they mutually decided their first activity as a couple would be a simple one.

They both needed a nap.


End file.
